In a shocking development today, Trot actually took a nap longer than your average coffee break, Rakes stayed in the toy room watching "Prince Caspian" or "Saw V" (I'm not really sure which one, but he was quiet and subdued and sometimes that's about all you can ask for) and I actually had time to think and watch "Gran Torino" on the computer.
Yes, I watched it on the computer. And no, I'm not saying how; I've spent the last 4 hours peeking through the mini-blinds waiting for a 4 door coup to come screeching into my driveway while 6 guys wearing matching Brooks Brothers suits and RayBans proceed to bang on my front door.
Anyways, I came to the realization I spent the first 28 years of my life wishing time would hurry up and the last 10 wishing it would freaking slow down. Yesterday I brought Ciera home from the hospital and today she's 10 going on 30 and I'm a year and a half away from 40 years old.
I spent the first 34 years of my life wondering if the Red Sox would ever win a World Series while I had enough marbles left to remember it to wondering if they could go back to back last fall.
I'd always dreamed of going to Fenway, and not only did I get to go, but I got to go to 4 games in one season, including a playoff game. And I'm going back AGAIN in May.
20 years ago I was a dumb kid with no idea I'd be meeting the love of my life in a few months (even if neither one of us would realize it) and would one day have 3 kids, a mortgage, the beginnings of a bleeding ulcer and more gray hair than I care to admit to.
The point of all this? I have no idea. I watched a movie and all these thoughts just sort of started ping ponging around my head; I guess if I wanted to really try and figure it out I'd go see a head doctor tomorrow and see what they tell me.
Problem with that is, by the time tomorrow gets around to showing up I'll have dealt with about 300 new conflicts, wondered for the 1,549th time whether Tek is coming back next year, and will have said something that causes Angie to throw a frying pan at me by 8 a.m. So I figure I'll just let it go and hope for the best.
I just hope one day when I'm pushing 80 years old I'll have the opportunity to utter the following sentence:
"Get off of my lawn."
A little over 2 weeks until pitchers and catchers report.
I just may make it.